Day by Day
by Candyland
Summary: Luke asks the professor an innocent question, or so he thinks. But the answer he gets will turn his world upside down.
1. One Night

**AN: **Written for a prompt on a drabble request post I did over on the Layton LJ community. I hope I don't sound like I'm bragging, but I am rather proud of this story, and I hold it as one of the best things I have written in a long time. So I sincerely hope that you enjoy it. This will be the first part of four. I don't own Professor Layton. It is the property of Level-5. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**One Night**

Hershel Layton was in a rather sour mood.

This was actually a fairly unusual occurrence. Most who knew the good professor would have described him fairly consistently as an even-tempered man, calm and relatively good-natured. He was rarely cross or bad-humored. But at the moment he was just that.

He sighed and gave up trying to focus on the puzzle sitting on his desk. It was a lost cause; he couldn't concentrate. His mental facilities were elsewhere. He kept thinking about his earlier conversation with his landlady. Agatha was a good woman, honest and hard-working, but she could be a bit nosy on occasion, and sometimes felt that everyone in the world was entitled to her opinion, free of charge.

Today's conversation had started pleasantly enough, discussing a new tenant in one of her apartments, and a case he had recently solved that had made the papers.

…and then she had asked him when he was going to settle down with a nice girl and start a family and all that.

As he usually did when this topic came up, he tried to play it down and change the subject, but today she was not to be deterred. She kept insisting that he was already in his mid-twenties, and there was so little time! He was such a nice man, and he deserved a happy home life and a family, she insisted.

He had thanked her and found a polite excuse to absent himself from the conversation. But it had left a very sour taste in his mouth, as it usually did.

Really, he didn't think he was that old. And while he had to agree that a family would be nice, and he was certainly fond of children, it just had not happened for him yet. That did not mean he was past his expiration date. Perhaps someday. But for now, it was no one's business but his own.

As a roll of thunder sounded outside, he stood up and sighed. The puzzle was not going to be solved tonight. His focus was shot. It just was not his night, it seemed.

Sleep. He needed a good night's rest to clear both his head and his mood, and he would face all of this tomorrow morning when he was better equipped to handle it all.

He stretched his arms over his head and left his office, heading towards the stairs that led up to his living quarters. In spite of his mild irritation at his landlady's assertion that he should be a husband and father by now, he couldn't quite keep himself from wondering how different the place would have been if there were the sounds of children filtering through the upstairs, asking for a drink of water or a bedtime story…

Another crack of thunder. Now his unbidden thoughts of children turned to the sounds of panic at the impending storm.

Ah well. Perhaps in time.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a different sound. For a moment his exhaustion-befuddled mind thought it was merely more thunder, but when he heard it again in quick succession, he realized that it was a knock on the door.

A glance at the clock proved that it was quite late, and a look out the window told him that it had been dark for quite some time, as there was no light left from the sunset. He'd had late-night visitors to plead his help before, but it was not a common occurrence.

Hershel walked back down the stairs and hit the switch that turned on the lamp over the porch; he fumbled with the lock for a moment before he was able to open the door.

He saw a figure standing several meters away from the door, just beyond the reach of the light. He was able to make out enough to tell that the form was a woman; the way the beige coat hung around curves gave that much away. But he couldn't make out any other distinguishing features. The facial features were completely hidden in the darkness. And she seemed to be backing away from him and the door, one slow step at a time.

"Miss, is everything—" he started to call out to her, reaching with one hand. Perhaps she was hurt, or in need of some help. Or…

A noise at his feet drew his attention, and he glanced down. There, sitting on his front porch, was a small basket with a pale blue blanket tucked into it. And there was something moving beneath the blanket.

It clicked suddenly, and his eyes shot back up to the woman. "Miss, please—"

"I'm sorry!" she sobbed before she turned and fled into the darkness. Her light colored coat was the last thing to disappear, swallowed by the night.

Layton was fully prepared to give chase (despite the fact that he was wearing neither shoes nor coat against the cool night air), but he stopped short when he heard a soft cry from the basket at his feet, beneath the blanket.

He knelt carefully; his hands shook only slightly as he reached out and lifted the blanket, already fairly certain that he knew what he was going to see.

…and he was right.

There was a baby in the basket.

The infant was awake, and crying softly, tugging at the blanket with tiny fists. Hershel assumed that the child was a boy, given that both its clothes and the blanket were a similar shade of light blue.

…was that woman…

…had she just…

…oh good heavens.

The cries grew louder. Now at a complete loss, he reached into the basket and carefully gathered the child up and stood with the baby in his arms. Remembering something he had been told when meeting a friend's newborn, he took care to support the baby's head.

"Shh…there, there," he said softly. Some unknown instinct told him to try rocking the baby. "It's all right…" He glanced up into the darkness into which the woman—this child's mother, if his guess was right—had last been visible. He saw nothing.

Somehow, he was fairly sure that she wasn't going to be coming back.

He stood there in the glow of his porch lamp, holding the whimpering infant, and looking out into the night.

And it was starting to rain.

**_-o-_**

_Luke stared straight ahead, his eyes focused on nothing at all. When he had asked his mentor if the Professor knew anything of his parents, he had seemed so delighted to hear that Layton did, indeed, know something of them._

_Now…_

_He just looked blank._

_Layton had recited the story with his eyes closed, unable to bring himself to see the look on his apprentice's face when he told him the truth of how he had been orphaned._

_Now he looked directly at Luke, his own expression somber. "You are sixteen years old, Luke. I think you are old enough to know the truth." He paused, then closed his eyes again. He just couldn't bring himself to keep looking at Luke's face when he looked like that. "…I'm sorry, Luke."_


	2. One Morning

**AN: **Huh…I thought I had already posted this part up here. My bad. Anyway, here is part two. I hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything from the Layton games. It all belongs to Level-5. Thanks!

**One Morning**

Layton stared at the door for a very long time before he finally knocked. It was early, to be sure, but he knew she would be up and about by now. He shifted the basket in his arms a bit for a firmer hold as he waited for what was undoubtedly going to be impending doom. Or at the very least a lecture on his marital status or lack thereof. Either way, he was not looking forward to this conversation, but…

Well, it was a necessary evil.

After a moment, the door opened and his landlady peered out at him. Her vision wasn't what it had once been, and it took her a moment of squinting through her spectacles to recognize him, just as it always did. He would have thought that the hat would have been quite the distinguishing feature, even to her old eyes, but it seemed that was not the case.

When she finally realized who her visitor was, her face broke into a wide smile of delight. "Ah, Professor! Good to see you!" Agatha opened the door and gestured for him to come inside. "Please, come in, come in!" She closed the door after he had passed her to enter the room. "Two visits in two days. My lad, you're far too kind to an old woman."

It was comments like those that drove home a simple fact: nosy as she could be, the woman was lonely. He smiled and carefully set the basket down on the table, noticing movement beneath the blanket. It seemed that someone was waking up. "I hope I'm not intruding, Agatha, but I need some advice."

"No intrusion!" she trilled. It was then that she seemed to finally notice the basket, and crossed the room to peer at it curiously. "What have we here? And…is it moving, Hershel?" Now her gaze turned a bit towards the suspicious. "What have you brought?"

"Last night…well," he paused, then hesitantly reached down to pull the blanket back, revealing a very sleepy-looking infant in blue pajamas, "this young man appeared on my doorstep."

Agatha gasped. "Hershel…!"

"I saw a person. It appeared to be a woman, so I make the guess that she was this boy's mother," he went on. "She fled when I tried to speak to her. I certainly couldn't leave the poor boy out there in the cold, so…" He trailed off, watching as his landlady carefully picked up the infant.

"Good heavens…what kind of woman would abandon her child like that?" she said with all the scorn of one who is old and set in her ways, cradling the baby against her. "Especially a beautiful baby like this one." She glanced at her tenant. "Did she leave anything with him?"

"A letter. His name is Luke," he said, ignoring the question of what kind of woman the mother could be. The letter in question was in his office in the center of his desk. He had read it enough times during the night to have memorized it, word for word, line for line. And he had gleaned from it that the mother was doing what she thought was best for her child. The situation…well, if it was as it had been described to him on those two pages, then perhaps she was right.

Now Agatha's measuring eye turned on him once again. "You aren't thinking of keeping this child, are you, Hershel?" she said in that one certain voice of hers. It was hard to explain, but somehow whenever she used that particular tone (which thankfully wasn't often with him), he found himself fighting to feel his normal height, rather than two inches tall.

That was the million picarat question, as it were, and one that Professor Layton had been pondering over since the previous evening. And he had come to the only answer he truly felt he could, given what he knew of the situation and his own sense of propriety and duty. "I am, Agatha."

"Hershel, you are a single man—you wouldn't—how could you—couldn't possibly—you don't know a thing about raising a child!" she sputtered before finally deciding on that last as a full statement. She seemed to hold the child in question a bit closer to her as she said that, as though to protect it.

He looked down for a moment to gather his thoughts. "…she left him on my doorstep for a reason, Agatha," he said with a great deal more calm than he felt. "She told me all of this in the letter she left." He decided to indulge his landlady a bit. "The poor woman did not feel she could care for her son, so she chose to give him up. And she left him with me because she thought I could give him what she could not. And that makes him…Luke…my responsibility."

It was one of the very few times he had seen this woman falter. "But…"

"I know that I know nothing about children," he said. "That is why I came here to see you."

Agatha looked down at Luke, who had dozed off again and was merrily drooling on the bodice of her apron. Then she glanced back at her tenant. "You're sure about this?"

"Not at all. But I want to try."

Another look between the two of them before she sighed. "All right. But I warn you, this will not be easy. Furthermore, the child is the only one in this situation who can truly be called innocent, Hershel, and I will not tolerate anything that might put this poor boy at risk. But…" To his surprise, her expression softened. "…but I think you can do it. And I think you have the makings of a wonderful father."

With those encouraging words hanging in the air around them and dissolving the tension over the child's fate, she crossed the short distance between them and carefully placed the drowsy baby in his arms with a warning to mind his head.

It wasn't going to be an easy road, but it would definitely be an exciting one.

**_-o-_**

_"Professor?"_

_Layton was startled to realize that he had been daydreaming. That was something that had been happening with unusually high frequency over the past two days. After all, that was how long it had been since Luke's fateful query regarding his parents, and Layton's truthful answer._

_Since that evening, things had been very tense in the household. Luke had spent a great amount of time closed up in his own room, refusing to see or speak to anyone unless it was absolutely unavoidable. He did not even emerge for meals, prompting a worried Flora to bring a tray up to his room. There was no reply when she knocked on his door, but she was not to be so easily deterred (the girl had proven to have a bit of a stubborn streak in her), and she had told him she was leaving the tray outside in the hallway for him. She had returned some time later to find that while the tray did not appear to have been moved, the food had vanished._

_This marked the first time that Luke had seen or spoken to him since that conversation. Layton stood. "Yes, my boy?" Are you all right? Is there anything I can do? Do you hate me? A million questions raced through his mind, but the only one that made it out was a simple, "How are you feeling?"_

_Luke didn't reply. He crossed the room with slow, shuffling steps, keeping his eyes firmly on the floor, stopping in front of the desk. "Professor…I wanted to know if you knew anything else about my mother," he said, shifting slightly. He looked nervous. "Anything at all."_

_"Luke?"_

_"I want to find her."_

_Layton froze, particularly when Luke lifted his gaze and met Layton's eyes squarely. "I just…I want to know what happened and why she left me!" he burst out. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "If nothing else…I just want to know where she is. So if you know anything at all…" He looked down again, his momentary rush of bravado leaving him. "Please, Professor. Please."_

_At that moment, he looked very, very young._

_The Professor was still for a moment before he stooped to open a desk drawer. From this drawer, he withdrew an envelope. It was old, slightly yellowed from age, and showed the signs of having been handled with great frequency. "Luke," he began slowly, "your mother left this letter with you. It told me your name, and why she left you."_

_Luke looked up quickly at the word 'letter.' His eyes fixed on that yellowed envelope, never leaving it._

_"I kept it because I expected you to ask someday, my boy," Layton went on, moving to step around the desk to stand before his apprentice, the letter still held carefully in his hands. "In this letter, she asks me not to try and locate her. A gentleman honors the request of a lady and all. But…she made no such request of you, Luke. And I think she might have wanted you to find her some day."_

_"Why do you think that?" Luke asked quietly._

_"Because, my boy," Layton held the letter out to Luke, "she signed her name."_

_Luke stared at the envelope for a long moment. "Professor…do you…I mean, can you…"_

_Layton was a bit startled to feel himself smile. "I'll help in any way I can, my boy."_

_The grateful smile on Luke's face nearly broke his heart._

* * *

**PS.** _Okay. I decided to continue "One Night." This was after a TON of deliberation…and also all these scenes in my head that refused to go away. My fear is that I won't be able to live up to the original (which I admit to be very proud of), but…the plunnies won't leave me alone. So I'll do my best to make it stack up. There should be…probably two more parts after this. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	3. One Afternoon

**AN: **Going on with part three of what will actually ultimately be five. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own Professor Layton.

**One Afternoon**

Agatha had warned him that this would not be easy. Mentally, he had known that, and he had believed himself to be well prepared for it. But experience is a cruel master, and he was finding that difficult was not always quite adequate to describe his day-to-day life. This was a challenge far greater than any puzzle he had ever had laid before him.

…which made it all the more surprising when he would make a comment about this or that to a friend, and would be told that he should consider himself fortunate because the friend's child did this, that, and the other thing when they were that size. It was a bit baffling, but he took those words to heart: _it could be a lot worse than it was, and thus he was lucky._

But it was also interesting and strangely gratifying, he found, to see those little milestones pass. Sometimes he barely realized that they had gotten there before it had already gone. For example, many a sleepless night had passed spent comforting a wailing infant before he realized that Luke had his first tiny tooth coming in. Another visit with Agatha gave him some suggestions for dealing with that; his landlady no longer seemed terribly bothered at the idea of her single male tenant raising the child, but now seemed almost amused at the whole of it.

It almost crept on him, this immersion in his role as…well, as caretaker. There was some unknown mental hurdle that he couldn't get past just yet, and so he didn't quite let him call himself a father. He tried not to let himself think too much about it, but focused solely on Luke, who was growing rapidly and starting to babble happily at him in nonsensical baby talk that was quickly becoming music to the professor's ears.

There had been a lot of alarm, though, when Luke had started moving under his own power. First crawling, then walking. Layton had nearly had a heart attack when he walked in to find the boy toddling around on his own two feet. But he'd had to recover quickly, as Luke took one look at him and immediately made his way over to hug one of the Professor's legs.

From there…well, Professor Layton could appreciate curiosity, of that there was no doubt. He was an avidly curious man himself. But Luke was curious about everything. And his favored method of putting his curiosity to rest was to get into everything that caught his attention, whether it was his to play with or not. It was fortunate that the one client was himself a father, and thus extremely understanding when an embarrassed Layton had to explain that the puzzle was not solved because a two-year-old had managed to break it into more pieces than it was originally supposed to be in.

But overall? The good far outweighed the bad. As Luke grew, he began to speak, to question, and to learn. The curiosity that had been bordering on an annoyance as a toddler was now becoming a source of pride for his guardian, who was quite happy to nurture those questions. For a person who continued to see the world as the wondrous place it was would never cease to learn.

When Luke was six, he asked a question, one of the ones that Layton had been dreading. But he had decided on the answer long ago, before he had really grown into his role, and in a moment of uncharacteristic panic, he fell back on that old answer.

"You can call me the Professor," he said. It was what everyone else called him by now.

"Are you my daddy?" Luke asked, his favorite teddy bear snuggled under one arm.

…that question actually hurt. "No, my boy," Layton said with a smile that didn't pass skin-depth. "I'm…your mentor. You are my apprentice." Again, that story he had decided on so long ago that came to him as he struggled to find the right words.

Luke seemed relatively unbothered by the whole thing, though, and spent the rest of the day practicing saying the words 'professor' and 'apprentice.' He was, Layton decided, still too young to truly understand what he was asking, or the answers he had been given.

**_-o-_**

_With the woman's name in hand, it had been remarkably simple to look her up. All it had taken was a trip to the records room. Upon learning that the young man seeking her was the woman's song, the clerk was helpful, and showed them where they could locate the information on their mystery woman._

_It was there that they found the answer that Layton had desperately been hoping they wouldn't find. There she was, in black and white, as clear as day. A birth certificate…_

_And a death certificate._

_The year on the latter said that Luke had been nearing his third birthday when she had died of an illness._

_It was for that reason that they were here now, standing outside in the frigid cold of winter. Layton stood by the gate with Flora beside him, both bundled up against the winter's chill. They had offered their support, but Luke had wanted to go the rest of the way alone. He had been fairly tight-lipped about nearly everything else relating to the matter. It was no real surprise that he would want to go the rest of the way alone now._

_The cemetery was silent and still, save for the few flurries of snow that fell around them and the soft squeak of Luke's shoes against the snow already covering the path. He wandered past several stones, slowing to look carefully at each before passing it; finally, he paused, studied the stone beside him intently…and stopped. He stood there, just looking at it._

_That had to be her._

_What followed was a very long period of quiet. Luke knelt beside the grave, his face a tight mask, void of expression, his cheeks reddened from the cold. Once or twice his lips moved as though to speak, but no words reached the ears of those who watched the scene from the cemetery gate._

_After a long moment, he withdrew one gloved hand from his pocket and dragged it over the stone's surface, brushing aside the snow. His fingers lingered there a moment or two longer than they needed to before finally withdrawing and returning to his pocket. He stood then, rising to his full height; he shook a bit, as he had been crouched long enough for the cold to permeate his body, and his legs and knees were protesting the movement._

_But when Luke began to walk back towards them, he was not looking at them, and his pace was far too quick for one simply walking back to rejoin his family. Thus, Layton was not terribly surprised when Luke walked by them without a glance or a word; he had gone only a few steps past them when he suddenly broke into a run and tore off._

_"Luke!" Flora called. She took a step forward as though to run after him, but stopped when she felt a hand on her arm. "Professor?"_

_Layton shook his head. "Let him be. I doubt he's going home right away. Let's give him some time."_

_Flora didn't look entirely convinced, but nodded. She turned her head to look towards the spot where Luke had last been visible. "I lost my parents too…" she murmured, the words intended more for her own ears than for her company's._

_"Luke never met his mother," Layton said quietly. "He has no memories of her to fall back on." He put one hand under Flora's arm and gestured towards the graves nearby. "Since we're here, shall we visit?"_

_"…yes," Flora said with a nod. "Let's introduce ourselves."_

_They followed Luke's footprints, slowly vanishing in the increasingly-falling snow, and stopped before the grave in question. Luke's mother had been laid to rest here. It was only proper that they introduce themselves and say hello. They were, after all, his family now._

_Layton knelt carefully. "Hello," he said. "I hope you remember me, but you entrusted your child to my hands almost sixteen years ago…and I wanted to thank you for it. I know how difficult it was for you." He closed his eyes. "Luke is a good lad, a wonderful boy. He's growing up into a fine young man. I hope you can see him, and I hope you are proud of him."_

_Beside him, Flora moved. He glanced back to see her pushing her hood back and tugging at her hair. It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. Flora was fond of wearing flowers in her hair, as they were her namesake, and she was currently undoing the ribbon from her ponytail to pull free the flowers that ribbon had held there._

_It took her a few mere seconds, and then she knelt to lay the flowers carefully at the grave. "I'm sorry that this is all I have for you right now," she said apologetically. "We'll come see you again…and I'll bring you some real flowers then. I promise."_

_Layton nodded. "We'll come again." He wondered briefly if Luke would, but did not voice the thought. Instead, he got to his feet. It was getting colder; they had best be getting home. "Come, Flora."_

_She didn't need to be told twice, and linked her hand through her guardian's arm as they made their way from the cemetery. "Professor…will Luke be all right?" she asked after a moment._

_"He'll come home eventually," Layton said. "For now…let's just leave him be."_

_In truth, there was little the Professor wanted more than to go find the boy and make sure he was all right. But Luke was no longer the little boy who had so innocently asked if Layton was his father. He was almost an adult in his own right, and now he was dealing with something in his own way._

_Layton did hope that Luke came home soon, though._

_…while some small, angry voice in the very back of his mind hoped that Luke came home at all._

* * *

**PS. **_The scene in the cemetery took forever, not gonna lie. Trying to get it all as it was in my head, with enough detail (but without going overboard) was really tough. But overall, I'm relatively pleased with how it came out. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you'll tune in for the next installment. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!_


	4. One Evening

**AN: **Onward with part four! I do not own Professor Layton or any related characters.

**One Evening**

Watching Luke grow had become a joy unlike any other, and far from anything Hershel Layton had ever thought he could experience. The baby became a toddler, and the toddler became a boy, always inquisitive and curious and full of questions.

When Luke reached a certain age, Layton formally made Luke his apprentice. It was the explanation he had used when Luke had inquired as to their relationship, and now he saw no reason to leave it unofficial. Given that the boy shared his enthusiasm for learning in general and puzzles in particular, it seemed all too perfect.

Such was the state of affairs when they hopped into the trusty Laytonmobile and headed forth to a small town in the country. The village was called St. Mystere to seek something called the Golden Apple at the behest of a woman who signed her name as Lady Dahlia Reinhold. Once there, they were caught up in quite the adventure in a town of mysteries, oddities, robots, and puzzles, only to find a young woman waiting for them at the goal.

That brought up a whole new slew of issues that Layton really hadn't even given consideration to. Luke was a growing boy, and Flora certainly was a pretty girl. After much wavering over the issue, he decided to let things happen as they would…and keep an extremely close eye on the two as they grew older.

The whole time travel affair, though, gave Layton a shock when he found himself face to face with Luke's future self. His older self. This was the adult that his young apprentice would grow to become. It was a jolt, to put it mildly, to think that Luke would go from an admittedly adorable child to this calm, self-assured young man.

After that mess was solved and they returned home, Layton found himself watching for the mystical transformation to happen. But he was so busy watching and waiting for it to happen that he almost missed actually seeing it.

Until one day, when he realized that Luke was nearly as tall as he was, and that he had shed so much of the gangly awkwardness that had plagued those delightful adolescent years. His voice was deeper, his face thinner, his mannerisms becoming that of an adult and less an excitable child.

He wasn't the only one, either. Flora had blossomed into a beautiful young woman, a fact that had not escaped Luke's attention. The looks between them had grown a bit more inquisitive, the words quieter and more furtive. It was all perfectly innocent, and Luke was a gentleman.

Layton was watching the two of them one afternoon as they shared a book and conversation in the library when it hit him with all the force of a runaway Ferris Wheel.

Luke was growing up.

Both of the children were, really.

But he had held Luke as a baby. There was no way to describe the difference that made.

As he usually did, though, the professor kept himself in check, and continued to watch and encourage and be the mentor and confidante and advisor that he had always been. Everything else remained tightly under wraps. A gentleman, he told himself, did not burden others with unnecessary problems.

Still, he couldn't quite hold off that vague feeling of dread at the idea that someday Luke might ask the question that Layton wasn't sure he was prepared to answer. No, that wasn't right. He knew he could answer, and do so honestly; Luke was old enough to know the truth if he sought to find it. The truth was that he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle the consequences of that truth.

…but that was up to Luke to decide.

Still, Layton's heart clenched when Luke wandered into his study one day and sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk, facing him. And the professor's insides turned to ice when his apprentice asked if Layton knew anything about his parents.

**_-o-_**

_It was now completely dark beyond the window of Layton's study, though it was brightened somewhat by the snow, which fell in large, thick flakes. A glance at the clock proved that it had been nearly three hours since their abortive visit to the cemetery to find a certain person's resting place._

_And Luke still had not returned._

_Layton kept trying to tell himself that Luke was almost an adult in his own right and that he could take perfectly good care of himself. There were plenty of places he could go to get out of the cold. There was no reason to worry, no reason to be alarmed, and certainly no reason for his attention to continually drift away from the puzzle at hand towards that window in search of a familiar silhouette._

_And it wasn't just him. Flora wandered in and out of the room under various pretenses. Would the Professor like some tea? Was he sure? Was he absolutely sure? Perhaps something to eat? That snow was getting bad, wasn't it? But even as she asked those questions, her eyes did as his, and kept straying towards the snow-glazed glass._

_It was Flora who broke first. She stared out the window for a moment before she stormed over to Layton's desk and slammed her hands down on it. She was usually a sweet, well-mannered girl, but she could be incredibly forceful when she felt it was called for. "Professor, we have to go find him!"_

_He jumped at the sound. "Flora—"_

_"If you won't go with me, then I'm going alone!" she went on in a rush. "I don't know where he is, but he's alone and upset, and it's dark and cold!" As she spoke, she was crossing the room and reaching for the coat rack, where her winterwear was hanging._

_"Flora—"_

_"We just need to make sure that he's safe. I mean, Luke is smart, but he's so upset right now…who knows what he'll—" she had her scarf around her neck when Layton finally got his hands on her shoulders to stave off the torrent of frightened words._

_"Flora!" he said her name loudly, then sighed. Finally, he had her attention. "You are not going out there by yourself. It isn't safe for a young lady." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "It's not safe. Which is why I'm going with you." He reached past her and claimed his own coat from the rack, quickly shrugging into it. "You aren't the only one worried."_

_The two were bundled up in record time and out the door, heading towards the place where they had last seen Luke. They left a note behind in case he returned while they were looking for him, and took to the hunt. Layton knew from experience that there were a few places that Luke tended to frequent, and headed for those first._

_The snow was falling heavily, enough to obscure their vision. Unable to clearly see their missing loved one, they resorted to a slightly less discreet method of searching: they began to call Luke's name as they wandered the area in search of him. They weren't getting any reply, though, and there weren't many people out and about in this cold to ask._

_Layton's feelings were starting to go beyond worry and into dread and fear. As Flora had said, Luke was a smart boy under normal circumstances, calm and reasoned. But these were not normal circumstances. He was upset, confused, and rightfully so. And those were emotions that could cloud the judgement of most adults, to say nothing of a young man in his late teens._

_He rounded yet another corner onto yet another street, this one as void of people as the last. If it weren't for Flora's hand on his arm, he could have easily given into a flight of fancy and thought himself the only person left in the city. He squinted through the snow, cupped one gloved hand to his mouth, and called again, not expecting a reply. "LUKE!"_

_"Professor?"_

_The voice came out of nowhere, making both Flora and Layton jump as they spun in search of the source of it. Peering through the snow and the darkness, they saw Luke standing perhaps half a block away._

_"Luke!" Flora was already sprinting towards him. She reached out with gloved hands and touched his face. "Goodness, you're freezing!" She hurriedly tugged her scarf from around her own neck and wrapped it carefully around his, knotting it under his chin. "Where have you been, Luke? We've been worried sick about you!"_

_"I'm sorry, Flora," he murmured, visibly shivering. "Professor."_

_Now that they were closer, Layton could see that Luke was, to put it mildly, cold. His hands were stuffed into the deep recesses of his coat pockets, his shoulders drawn up almost all the way to his ears. He was moving stiffly, and his words were hoarse, like it was a struggle to merely voice them._

_"Went down to the river," he said in that same mumble. "Lost track of time."_

_Layton got one of Luke's arms in a firm hold. "We need to get you someplace warm. Let's go home."_

_There were no protests to this suggestion. Layton stayed on one side of his apprentice, while Flora took the other. Luke was freezing, and probably exhausted, and the two had to more or less guide him back to the brownstone building they all called home._

_Once he was safely inside and out of the cold, Flora took charge. She ordered him out of his wet clothes and into a hot bath, pajamas, and bed, in that order. As he shuffled off to obey, she ordered Layton to his study to get a fire going and warm up there. With this accomplished, she shrugged out of her heavy clothes and went to the kitchen to make tea for the three of them._

_Layton downed his tea with a bit more gusto than he usually did, but it tasted wonderful, and warmed him from the inside out. Flora nodded approvingly and headed up the stairs to take a cup to Luke._

_She returned a moment later. "He's all but asleep," she reported. "I wouldn't be surprised if he caught a nasty fever after all of this." She sighed. "I hope he'll be okay…"_

_"I hope so too," Professor Layton agreed, looking down into the bottom of his tea cup. "I hope so."

* * *

_**PS.**_ One chapter left after this, sort of an epilogue (and I hope it's not too campy or anything but it was so clear in my head and gaaaaaaah…), and then it's done. Hope you'll check back in. Thanks! Much love!_


	5. One Day

**AN: **Here we have the fifth and final part to this fic. I hope you enjoy it, and very much appreciate everyone who has read and/or dropped me a comment. I don't own Professor Layton. Thanks for reading, all! Much love!

**One Day**

Luke had opted to come alone this time, for various reasons. Last time had been an unmitigated disaster, and he had managed to pull his family into that disaster. He had panicked, and he had run away, and by the time he came to his senses, he had been too embarrassed to go home. So he wandered around for a while, eventually coming to sit down on a bench near the river. It was so cold, and the snow was falling more and more heavily, but he was still nervous about going home.

No, not nervous.

If he was completely honest with himself, he would be willing to admit that he was afraid to go home. And even he didn't exactly know why. He knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be turned away, even considering his rather moody behavior over the last few days. But…

There were still a lot of things that he didn't understand. He had read his mother's letter. He had asked questions of everyone he could find who would know anything, and he knew a great deal of the truth. But there were a few questions he wanted to ask that could only be answered by one person.

And that person was buried beneath the gravestone in front of him.

Luke knelt in the snow. The weather was starting to warm as winter faded and spring made its way into the world; the snow would melt away soon. In the meantime, it was wet enough to soak through his pantlegs, but he ignored the cold wetness on his knees and reached out to brush a few stray flakes of snow away from the smooth, engraved stone.

Next time, he decided suddenly, he would bring the Professor and Flora with him. Luke was certain that they would be willing, and Flora had told him that they had come and introduced themselves to her during that first awful visit, after he had left. If she could see him now, she would probably be happy to know that he had a family like them now. At least, he hoped so.

He choked up for a moment, and it took him several seconds to find his voice, but he was proud when it only shook slightly as he said, "Hello, Mother. I'm back." He even felt a shaky smile cross his face.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds for the first time that day. It would be spring soon.

_**-o-**_

_Flora's prediction proved uncannily accurate: Luke was bedridden with a dreadful fever for a full two days after that fateful, frigid afternoon in the cemetery. It was nothing terribly serious, but he felt awful, and slept constantly before he was finally well enough to get out of bed._

_For Layton, it all brought back memories of nursing the young man as a child through a fever or a bout of the flu. Still, he said nothing to that effect. He merely kept his smile in place and tended to his sick apprentice with that practiced hand._

_It wasn't until after Luke was on his feet again that they found themselves face to face in Layton's study, where all of this had started in the first place. The scene started off in a manner that was almost eerily familiar: Luke walked into the study, hesitated, then strolled to the chair on the other side of Layton's desk. The professor himself was standing behind the desk, rather than sitting at it._

"_How are you feeling?" Layton asked. "You still look a little pale."_

"_I'm all right," Luke said with a wave of his hand. "But…I wanted to talk to you. I have some questions."_

"_Of course." This was expected, Layton reminded himself. He picked up a book from the desk for the sole purpose of having something to do with his hands. "What would you like to know?"_

_There was a pause before Luke spoke again. "…why did you keep me?"_

_That wasn't quite the question Layton had been expecting to be the first one off the boy's lips, but it was a fair question nonetheless. And truth be told, it was a decision that he himself had given some serious consideration to, both at the time he had made the choice (for all the obvious reasons), and at later dates, after time had gone by and the boy under his care had started to grow and mature and become the young man that Luke now was._

_He returned the book to the desk and walked around it to lean on it, tapping his chin in a thoughtful gesture that was all too familiar. In a way, it was a bit comforting. Familiarity was something that they could both cling to when the rest of their neatly ordered little world had gone down-side up._

"…_I'll give you the rational answer first, Luke. I warn you that it may sound a bit cold, but it's not the only factor I considered. So please hear me out," Layton said after a moment spent trying to collect his thoughts and decide on the best way to proceed._

_Luke nodded, sinking into the chair without a word._

"_When it happened…well, I took you inside and I read the letter from your mother. You know what it said," Layton began. "She asked me to take care of you. And a gentleman—"_

"_Never refuses the reasonable request of a lady," Luke intoned with the bored air of one who has heard such a statement a thousand times. He actually cracked a small smile at that, and for a moment he was the normal teenaged boy, the same young man that he had always had been._

"_She had her reasons for asking this of me, and it wasn't as though I lacked anything needed to support you. Save, perhaps, experience," he also found a small smile making its way to his lips as he recalled how lost he felt that first night. It had prompted a visit to his landlady for assistance. "I was fortunate enough to have a friend who knew plenty about children. She was quite the teacher."_

_Luke nodded but did not speak, holding to his promise to hear everything his mentor had to say._

"_And somewhat related to that was that…" he sighed. "The idea of turning you over to a home somewhere or placing you in an orphanage…well, it did occur to me. For perhaps a second or two. And then I rocked you to sleep, and knew that there was no way I could hand you over to anyone else, especially to a place like that. I know some of them are fine establishments, but…no. I wouldn't do that."_

_Another nod. Overall, Luke's expression was mask-like, but there was a speculation in his eyes._

"_Also…" Layton looked down. He was actually a bit embarrassed to admit this, even after so much time had passed. "…Luke, at the time, I was giving consideration to marriage for a very simple reason: I…well, I was lonely." He turned his head to the side, though not fast enough to avoid seeing Luke's eyes widen at the admission. "The house seemed far too quiet some nights."_

_For the first time, Luke spoke. "Professor…"_

"_I wondered what it would be like to have children. A family. And then lo and behold, a child falls into my lap," he looked up towards the ceiling now, not daring to look directly at his apprentice. "I am a man of science, Luke. I believe in reason, not fate or chance or coincidence or whatever you will call it. You know this. But…well, you landed in my life at the time I needed you most, whether I realized it or not."_

"…_when I was little, I asked you a question," Luke said. There was a soft rustle accompanied by a creak, indicating that he had stood up. "I asked if you were my father. Why did you say no?"_

…_that was certainly not a question that the professor had expected. "Because I'm not—"_

"_Why not?" Luke cut him off in a surprisingly harsh voice._

"_What?" his head snapped down to gape at his apprentice._

_Luke was staring at him angrily, intently. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. "In what sense are you not?" And now it was his turn to look away. "M-maybe your definition is just different than mine…" He dropped his gaze, his hair obscuring his eyes. But there was no hiding the fact that he was shaking._

_Layton pushed off from his desk to stand upright. "Luke?" The father statement was giving him pause and making him think, and he felt like he was dangerously close to breaking. Ever since taking that gigantic leap into the unknown, he had always resolved to deal with things as they happened and take everything day by day. With so many things happening at once now…_

"_I have only one other question, Professor," Luke said in a strained voice. "Please answer honestly."_

"_Go on," Layton said, hoping desperately that he sounded more encouragingly and less apprehensive._

_Luke seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. He opened his mouth and closed it again several times. Then he took a very deep breath and asked a single question. Four words in a quiet whisper that stopped the good professor in his tracks._

"…_do you love me?"_

_The entire world stopped, frozen completely._

_Then Layton moved. He was already in motion before he realized that he was doing it, or even knew what he was doing. His hands gripped Luke's shoulders and pulled him forward against him, barely even hearing Luke's noise of surprise—_

_And then he was hugging his apprentice like his life depended on it. No, not merely his apprentice…_

"_P-Professor?" Luke said, his voice muffled as his face was pressed into Layton's jacket. He wasn't struggling or pushing away; his tone sounded curious, bewildered by such an overt display from someone who so prided himself on having the reserve of a gentleman._

_Layton could barely get the words out, but they needed to be said. His self-control had broken, and his emotions were finally telling him what he had always told himself he was not ready to acknowledge. He had just been afraid to acknowledge it, to be honest. But if he didn't do it now, what he could lose…so he swallowed hard and let the words come out._

"_What father…doesn't love his son?"_

_There. He said it._

_What happened next was in Luke's hands._

_He felt the young man stiffen, and for a moment he was sure that everything had been destroyed._

…_and then Luke was clinging to him in return, clutching his jacket in fists so tight that the wrinkles would probably never come out. A shudder ran through his body, and he murmured something into Layton's shoulder. The word was muffled, and not completely intelligible._

_It might have been the word 'father.'_

_But Layton wasn't sure._

_As the emotions and the stress and the exhaustion and heartbreak of the last few days finally came crashing down on both of them, the mask of composure that Luke had so desperately clung to through it all shattered and fell to pieces._

_And Hershel Layton held his adoptive son close, in a way he hadn't since the young man was a baby, while Luke finally wept._


End file.
